Snape's Scrumptious Strawberries
by amaltia
Summary: Sequel to Draco's Blue Hair. This is a dramatic story of oily-haired Potions professors and curious role-plays, and, of course, a young, omniscient witch who will do anything to get her way. SS/HG, OOC, AU
1. HEMP

**Disclaimer: ** Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling and other associated characters. I do not claim to own any of these characters, though the views expressed within my story are my own.

** Warning: ** This story is intentionally silly, often ridiculous, and written on the premise that all characters have the right to be OOC in the bubble of my own head. Read at your own risk. Do not bug the author, for I have warned you!

** A/N: ** This is a separate story from "Dracos Blue Hair", but seeing as it follows directly from the events in "Draco's Blue Hair", I think it best if you read that one first!

**Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger, partially omniscient and overly talented witch, was fuming. Actually, she wasn't simply fuming, she was downright livid, teeming with frustration. Her passionate anger was caused by the one thing that drove Hermione wild: not knowing everything that happened on Hogwart's grounds.

Several weeks ago, she had stalked down to the dungeons to discover exactly what Snape was going to do with the strawberries he was begging off of the House Elves. But Ginny, who she'd had to drag along with her, had collapsed half-way there, allowing Snape to escape with said morsels before Hermione had arrived. Since then, Snape had asked the House Elves for strawberries two separate times, and both times she hadn't been able to corner him before he left the grounds. And to make matters worse, her favourite lip balm from the small beauty boutique in Hogsmede was being discontinued, _also_ for reasons unknown. She wanted to throttle someone.

Snape was too good at escaping from her grasp, she mused sourly, walking down the corridor to History of Magic. She supposed he had years of practice at evading Dumbledore, and although she readily admitted she was not yet at Dumbledore's snooping standard, she wished Snape wasn't quite so good at escaping.

She approached a corner and was almost at the History of Magic classroom when something made her pause. She strained her ears and realized that the faint noise she was hearing was actually whispering. That was hardly strange in itself, as there were numerous gossipmongers in Hogwarts. What was striking in this case was the producers of that whispering: Ginny was with Blaise, an overly charming Prefect, and a Slytherin to boot. Blaise was the one student that Hermione was actually wary about; he, like her, was an information collector, although he didn't have the advantage of being omniscient. As a matter of fact, one of Blaise's biggest puzzles was trying to discover exactly how Hermione knew nearly everything, as her superior ability was a bone of contention between the two of them. He was nowhere close to discovering the answer, much to Hermione's amusement. Ginny and Draco were the only ones to know, and Hermione took special note of their weaknesses for that very reason.

Hermione edged closer to the corner, staying out of sight. She closed her eyes and focused on the conversation.

"You took this long detour from your next class simply to tell me you're angry at Granger? Why are you wasting my time?"

"You said you'd reward me for information relating to Hermione," Ginny replied.

"Your feelings hardly count as information."

"But," Ginny insisted, trying to sound coy, "my feelings affect which information I feel inclined to relay." When Blaise did not reply, Ginny huffed angrily and continued. "Do you or do you not want to know how Hermione knows everything that goes on in Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't way for Blaise to reply. She strode around the corner, a fake smile on her face. Ginny sprung away from Blaise as if she had been stung, and with a little 'eep', she turned and fled down the corridor.

Blaise looked disgruntled, and so Hermione graced him with a radiant smile, adding, "Flighty girl, isn't she?" Then she swept past him and into the classroom. The taste of victory was sweet.

She sat down at her desk and began pulling out her quill and ink whilst Blaise slouched in and took a seat at the back. She studiously ignored him, although her mind was already whirring. Blaise was like a dog with a bone: he would relentlessly track Ginny down and force her to tell him everything. The only way to waylay Blaise would be to somehow incapacitate Ginny.

Hermione took a quill and wrote _How to incapacitate Ginny_ at the top of her parchment. She underlined it once and tapped her quill against her lips thoughtfully.

Harry and Ron chose that moment to come into the classroom. They took one look at her studious expression and immediately avoided her eyes, choosing to slump down in the seats next to her and prepare for a nap. She suppressed a smile. The two boys thought she diligently listened to Binns' monotonous voice, not realizing that she had acquired copies of all his lecture notes sometime in her first year. Hermione didn't want to dissuade Harry or Ron from their impression; it gave her, after all, time to make serious plans.

She underlined the title on her parchment a second time, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She frowned and touched her lips, taking her lip balm from her pocket and applying some while she continued to think. Perhaps Myrtle could be convinced to flood a toilet or two, Hermione mused, jotting the thought down and planning how to manoeuvre Ginny into being inside said toilet. But Ginny was already on her guard, and furthermore a toilet or two wasn't enough; it would take at least several days of incoherent Ginny babbling before Blaise would give up.

Hermione was about to cross the idea off of her list when a thought struck her. If flooding one toilet wasn't enough, the obvious solution would be to flood more. A continuous assault over several days would shock Ginny into absolute incoherency. But how to convince Ginny to enter said toilets? Hermione looked down at her parchment and began to write furiously, tuning out Binns' _fascinating _ lecture on, yet again, the Goblin Wars.

_Manipulating Ginny is too difficult_, she wrote, _therefore the situation must be tackled from the other end_. _Moaning Myrtle must be convinced to launch said attacks_. _Important: attacks mustn't be traced back to self!_

She continued to write, outlining possible pros and cons, as well as different methods for approaching and convincing Moaning Myrtle. By the time the class drew to a close, her plans were finalized. When Blaise paused at the door to sneer in her direction, she simply raised an eyebrow in reply, smirking. By the time he found Ginny, there would be no way he'd get the information he wanted.

Harry and Ron were too hungry to protest when she declared she'd joined them at lunch in a little while. Hermione smiled as she watched them stumble off in the direction of the Great Hall, and then turned around, heading to the seventh floor. Within minutes, she was outside the girl's bathroom.

Hermione pulled out her plan from her pocket for a final review. At the bottom, in capital letters, she had written: _DO NOT INSULT: MUST_ _KEEP M.M. ON MY SIDE_. That would be the most difficult part; Myrtle was vain, self-centred, and incredibly whiny. Hermione frowned, and concentrated on the girl's bathroom, wanting to make sure that Moaning Myrtle was alone. Unsurprisingly, she was, but there was something odd about what she was doing. Hermione frowned and concentrated harder, forming an image in her mind.

Moaning Myrtle was _preening_ in the mirror, if that was even possible, sighing to herself with lust-filled emotion. Not wishing to embarrass the ghost—Hermione needed her help, after all—she knocked on the bathroom door briskly, waiting a few seconds before stepping in.

Myrtle was perched on the bathroom counter, trying in vain to look like she was bone idle. She looked up with exaggerated surprise when Hermione walked in, her eyes blinking furiously behind her over-large spectacles. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Hello Myrtle, how are you?"

Myrtle narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You've never asked that before, not even when you were in here every day brewing that smelly potion. What do you want?"

Damn it. Too nice, too soon. She would have to either backtrack, or appeal to the ghost's innate self-importance. Hermione decided on the latter, and put on a sheepish expression. "I'd hoped you would've forgotten that by now. I was really immature several years ago, and didn't really appreciate what it must be like to be you. I'm actually really embarrassed about it now. Can you forgive me?"

Myrtle looked appeased, although still slightly suspicious. "So you don't want me to do anything?"

"Well, there is one thing I'd like you to do—" Hermione paused, banking on Myrtle's interruption.

Myrtle didn't disappoint, crowing, "Aha! I knew it! What do you want from me?"

"You see, Harry told me all about how you died. But I didn't feel his retelling quite captured it all, and I was wondering if you could tell me firsthand."

Myrtle simply blinked owlishly at her for a few moments, stunned. Hermione found herself holding her breath. This was a crucial part of her plan, the only way she could think of getting Myrtle to open up.

After a few seconds, the ghost quickly pulled herself back together, suddenly looking quite cocky. "Of course it's very difficult to convey the right emotion if you haven't personally experienced an event, although,"—and here Myrtle giggled— "I'm sure Harry did a very good job. He tries so _hard_ at everything, doesn't he?"

Myrtle's lewd tone of voice was conjuring rather disturbing images in Hermione's head. Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione simply nodded.

"Well," Myrtle began, looking more serious, "I was in the bathroom. This very bathroom, never mind why. And then I heard a boy's voice, speaking a strange language. I went out of the stall to tell him that he was in a girl's bathroom, and that it wasn't allowed. But when I came out I saw these big, luminous eyes, and then that was it. When I woke up again, I was dead." Myrtle gave a dramatic sigh and closed her eyes, as if relishing the memory.

After several moments of silence, Hermione dared to ask a question. "So you didn't see who that boy was?"

"No. It's a shame, really. I wasn't really going to tell him off, I was mostly just curious to see what he looked like, as I'd heard that some sexy Slytherins had taken to visiting the girl's toilets." Myrtle winked.

"Like Draco a few weeks ago?" Hermione asked slyly.

Myrtle went into a fit of giggles. When she calmed down, she edged closer to Hermione. "I rather liked him with blue hair," she whispered, looking coy. "It made his skin look pale and waxy, almost like a ghost."

"My thoughts exactly," Hermione replied dryly. Myrtle looked more relaxed now; it was time to put her plan into action. Hermione leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Speaking of Draco, did you hear the latest rumours?"

"Rumours? Nobody tells me anything! What rumours?"

"Remember that girl Ginny, the one who was with me when I came to help Draco?"

Myrtle nodded, adding: "Red hair? Ugly freckles?"

"Exactly. Well let's just say she's not been extremely nice to Draco, and has been saying some very rude things about him."

Myrtle looked scandalized. "Who would dare do that?!"

"Who indeed!" Hermione agreed, suppressing a smirk. "Someone should really teach that girl a lesson. The only problem is, how?" Hermione gave Myrtle a few moments to stew in her own juices before continuing. "Ginny does spend a lot of time in bathrooms, staring at her reflection and so on. If there was a way to stop her from using bathrooms, maybe by flooding the toilets…." Hermione gave a dramatic sigh. "It's useless, I wouldn't be able to do any of these things anyway."

"Well," Myrtle began hesitantly, "I do have some experience flooding toilets."

Hermione didn't have to try too hard to look excited. "Really?" Then she turned away from Myrtle, shaking her head. "I can't ask you to do something like that, you could get into trouble. We'll just have to hope Draco doesn't feel too hurt by the things she's saying."

"Nonsense!" Myrtle declared stubbornly. "You're not asking me to do anything, I _want_ to do it. And if anyone tries to get me into trouble, I'll just blame Peeves, he does those kinds of things anyway!"

"Oh please, Myrtle, forget I ever said anything!" Hermione said, looking worried. "I can't let you do this! Draco will be fine!"

Myrtle just raised her nose in the air snootily. "You just try and stop me!" Then she swooped once around the room before plunging into a toilet and disappearing.

Hermione smiled. Stop Myrtle? As if!

It took another two times of Snape escaping her grasp before Hermione went into utterly serious planning mode. She sat in History of Magic, scowling at the piece of parchment before her, which was covered with an extremely long list enumerating ways to discover what Snape was doing. Every single method had been crossed out except one, and it was with dread in her heart that she read the last option left: _follow S.S._.

She would have to do the unthinkable. She would have to leave Hogwarts, trail Snape to his lair. Leave Hogwarts! The thought made her shudder. Besides the death-threats on her head courtesy of Voldemort—and worse, the risk of expulsion!—her omniscience only extended as far as the Hogwarts wards. Off-grounds she was much too human for her liking.

On the plus side, it would mean having a break from Draco's constant excursions with random Hogwarts girls, which often ended in disturbing role-plays. It was a form of petty revenge, she knew, as he seemed to reason that if she was going to know everything, she might as well suffer for it. Hermione also knew that by simply whispering the words 'lollipop' or 'blue hair' in Draco's direction, she could put a stop to said excursions. But where was the fun in that? She didn't want him to think he had won, because Hermione always won.

She almost snorted derisively, angry at herself. She was stalling, thinking about Draco when she needed to be planning her mission out of Hogwarts. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote: _H.E.M.P._ In smaller letters, underneath, she added: _Hogwarts-External Mission Plan_. She stared at the title for several moments, chewing her lip anxiously.

Hermione pulled out her lip balm, spreading some on her over-abused lips. Then, slowly, she began to list everything that needed to be done.


	2. Following the Trail

**Chapter 2**

Hermione sat quietly at dinner, tuning out Harry and Ron's intense Quidditch discussion. She kept thinking over every aspect of her plan, mainly concerned of what to do if Snape caught her trailing him. She had practiced her Disillusionment charm in preparation for the N.E.W.T.S., but she wasn't sure whether that was enough to disguise her from Snape.

She covertly looked up at Snape, noticing his unusual paleness. His hair seemed oilier than normal, too. Hermione felt tempted to send him a subtle note telling him about Sleek n' Shine, the beauty and health boutique in Hogsmede, as they had an excellent range of shampoos for oily hair. At least, so Lavender claimed; Hermione had slightly dry hair herself and thus hadn't tried the shampoo. Her lip balm, though, was from the same shop, and she loved it.

She felt an odd niggling in the back of her mind, indicating that a person on her higher-priority list was engaging in unexpected behaviour. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, Pince, and Pomfrey were a few amongst the several on her list, the latest addition being Snape. She had once had Dumbledore on the list as well, but everything that wizard did was odd and unexpected, leading to such constant mental-niggling that Hermione had had a continuous headache, as well as insomnia. Who else but Dumbledore would regularly hand-wash socks at three o'clock in the morning?

She looked down at her book to hide her face from her nosy Housemates and focused her energy inwards. Ah, it was Draco again, with what looked like a 5th year Hufflepuff—it was hard to tell without the robes. She smirked. A Hufflepuff! Draco's standards had sunk to an all-time low.

Hermione took in the details to get a quick gist of the situation. It was a role-play he had already acted out several times, where Draco played the lead singer of an underground, leather-wearing, chain-wielding rock band, about to ravage an innocent lamb who was unaware of the joys of rock. She stifled a giggle. Draco and his groupies! Who did he think he was? At least leather suited him better than blue hair.

She focused on her dinner once more, taking the time to glance around the table. Harry and Ron were still arguing about Wonky Feints. Ginny had finally arrived, sinking into a chair three down from Ron. The girl looked absolutely frazzled, extremely skittish and jumpy. Hermione mentally thanked Myrtle; the ghost had been even more persistent that she had imagined, to the point that Ginny had started getting up in the middle of the night just to use the bathroom in peace.

"Ginny!" Ron bellowed down the table, spraying flecks of food on to Neville, who was next to him. "Back me up here, Harry's lost his flipping mind!"

"Flooding?" Ginny squeaked, eyes widening. "Did you say flooding?" She became to look around the room fearful, ignoring the rest of Ron's tirade. Hermione smirked.

Ron turned his attention back to Harry, looking triumphant. "See? She agrees with me!"

"She didn't say anything!" Harry protested.

"It's by virtue of shared blood. She's got to agree with me, even if she didn't say it specifically."

"And what about virtue of fanciability?" Harry managed to retort. "Surely I win there?"

Ron's face went an interesting shade of puce.

Bored of the discussion, Hermione shook her head and stood up to leave. She took a few steps away from the table, and then paused. Blaise was striding across the Great Hall, walking directly towards Ginny. He caught her gaze and smirked. The nerve of him! Thinking she would be powerless to stop him simply because they were in plain sight of everyone!

Well, he had a point, Hermione conceded. She _was_ powerless to stop him. Just as well Ginny had already been dealt with beforehand. She turned to leave, but then changed her mind, curious to see how well her plan was working.

Ginny jumped when Blaise tapped her on the shoulder, before whirling around to face him. Her eyes widened, and she looked from him to Hermione several times before visibly swallowing. Blaise began to speak to her, putting on his best charming face, but Ginny was already shaking her head frantically, looking more panicked by the second. Hermione estimated that in one and a half more minutes, Ginny would hightail it out of the Great Hall to avoid a nervous breakdown.

Her estimation was thrown off by a stroke of pure luck. Neville, who was still busily wiping off crumbs from his robes, knocked over a glass of pumpkin juice. The juice spattered across the table, showering everyone in the vicinity.

Several drops landed on Ginny's head. She paled immediately and stood up, pushing Blaise out of the way as if he were made of paper. Then, with a little whimper, she raced out of the Great Hall.

Blaise pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his robes with a sour expression on his face. He looked up and caught Hermione looking, and his expression soured even further. Hermione beamed back. Then, whistling cheerfully, she strolled out of the Great Hall. She had Transfiguration next, and it wouldn't do for the future Head Girl to be late.

Hermione swished and jabbed her wand a third time, frowning at the porcupine-shaped pincushion in front of her. Although that was all McGonagall expected from this particular class assignment, Hermione wanted to go one step further in order to maintain her know-it-all image. She was so focused on transfiguring her porcupine into a pincushion that it took her several moments to realize what the odd sensation in her head meant.

She paused, mid-swish, when she finally noticed the sensation. She closed her eyes, focusing inwards, trying to quell her rising excitement. It was Snape! She examined his surroundings. He was in the Hogwarts kitchen, surrounded by House Elves. One of them—Linky? Dinky?—was bringing him a large container of strawberries.

Hermione opened her eyes and checked the time. There was still half an hour of class left. Luckily, she had been prepared for the eventuality that Snape would leave during class times; his schedule was, after all, far more flexible than hers. She bent over to the side to reach for her bag, making sure no one could see what she was doing. She reached into one of the compartments in her bag and pulled out a small sachet of fake blood, opening it carefully. With her wand in one hand and the sachet in the other, Hermione subtly leviosa'd the fake blood up her nose. The sensation was unpleasant, but it had a much more realistic effect than anything the Weasley twins could invent.

She sat up straight at her desk and ended the spell. She only had a few precious moments before the blood would start trickling down, and she used that time to transfigure the porcupine one last time. With a subtle jabbing motion, the porcupine finally shifted into a square beige cushion.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger! Five points to Gryffindor." McGonagall exclaimed from behind her. "You've managed not only to transfigure the porcupine into a pincushion, but also to transfigure a round object into a square one."

_Oh really?_ Hermione thought sarcastically, putting on her best teacher's pet smile. She knew exactly what she had done; there was no need to explain her own accomplishments to her as if she were a child!

McGonagall picked up the pincushion with a smile, before looking properly at Hermione's face. "Dear Merlin, you're bleeding!"

"I am?" Hermione said, trying to sound confused. She touched her nose and examined the tips of her fingers.

"You best go to Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall said briskly, transfiguring her pincushion into a napkin and handing it to her. "You've overexerted yourself. Most students your age have difficulty transfiguring round objects into square. Go on, then. Mr. Potter can explain the assignment to you afterwards."

Hermione held the napkin to her nose and nodded in thanks, picking her bag off of the floor as she left. Harry and Ron sent sympathetic smiles her way, and she did her best to look a little teary at the prospect of missing class. As soon as the door closed behind her, she headed left, towards the Infirmary, making sure the portraits got a good glimpse of her blood-covered handkerchief. She turned the corner and slipped behind a wall-hanging, into a hidden alcove she had discovered in her second year.

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at her nose. With a whispered, "_Tergeo_," she siphoned off the remaining blood.

Then she moved her wand upwards and tapped her own head lightly, shuddering at the cold trickling of the Disillusionment Charm. As an extra precaution, she pulled out a shrunken travelling cloak from her pocket and enlarged it, applying the charm to it as well before securing it around her shoulders. It was a shame she hadn't managed to borrow Harry's cloak, but her own provisions would have to do.

Hermione cast Cushioning Charms on her feet to muffle any noise, and then closed her eyes to check on Snape's whereabouts. He had just reached his rooms and getting ready to leave. Perfect: she'd be able to get outside before he did, and monitor the doors for his escape. Smiling, she stepped out from behind the wall-hanging and headed for the Great Hall. She was in the hall and out the double doors in just under nine minutes.

As she waited outside, Hermione pulled the handkerchief out of her pocket. With a swish and a small flick, she untransfigured the porcupine, putting it down on the ground at her feet. The poor thing looked quite dazed, and snuffled loudly several times before trundling out from under the cloak and towards the Forbidden Forest. She smiled fondly at the prickly, stubborn little creature, until it suddenly made her think of Draco, who was just as prickly, but maybe not quite as cute. That annoying little ferret, Hermione thought with a scowl.

So focused was she on how to teach Draco a lesson—for what crime, she hadn't yet decided—that Snape almost crept by behind her without her even noticing. When she saw the flicker of moving cloth in the corner of her eye, she was unable to suppress a small gasp.

Snape froze. He straightened and looked around suspiciously, a sneer curling his lip downwards as he palmed his wand.

Damn. Hermione stood stock-still, keeping her breathing as shallow as possible. All it would take was one _finite incantatem_ and she was worse than dead.

Thankfully, Snape's precautions had always been more offensive than defensive. Several jets of red light shot harmlessly past Hermione. She assumed they were stunners, but didn't know for sure as he had cast them non-verbally.

Snape seemed satisfied as he scanned the area around him once more. But then something made him look down sharply towards her feet. Hermione's pulse quickened. Had the Cushioning charm failed, allowing him to see the outline of her feet in the grass? Was the cloak dragging somehow? What if her Disillusionment charm hadn't covered her completely?

Her worries were for naught. The porcupine appeared by her side once more, gazing up at the Potions Master inquisitively. There was a brief, tense stand-off between the two, before the porcupine twitched its black button nose several times and emitted a little sneeze-like snuffle.

Ah, Merlin bless the little porcupine.

Snape relaxed—marginally—and began to walk away from the castle once more. Raising his wand almost casually, he tapped his own head, and disappeared.

No, he had not disappeared, Hermione corrected. He was Disillusioned. The grass on the grounds had only recently been cut, but she could still faintly see the imprint of Snape's feet on the ground. She began to follow him at a safe distance, unable to suppress a triumphant smile.

Her smile faded when she noticed that Snape's footsteps were no longer visible. The stupid man had thought to cushion his feet, after all.

She pulled out her wand quickly, and whispered, "_Point me Snape_." The spell was one of her own inventions, inspired by her father's compass. It had only taken minor tweaking to have her wand point at the location of a specific target, rather than simply pointing north. Unfortunately, however, one had to be close to the target already for the spell to work properly, as people did not have useful magnetic fields indicating their position.

Hermione quickened her pace, making sure to stray slightly off-course. She didn't want to walk right into Snape, after all. The man didn't seem to take kindly to any kind of physical contact, whether intentional or not.

He seemed to be heading for the main gates. She realized, suddenly, that if Snape Disapparated, she would never be able to follow him. Hermione frowned. If he Disapparated, she was going to _kill_ someone.

She reached the main gates and held her breath as she cast the Four-Point spell once more. The wand swung firmly in the direction of Hogsmede, and Hermione sighed with relief. The village wasn't that big, so hopefully the spell would be able to lead her directly to Snape.

Hermione realized she was dawdling, and scowled. She looked at the gates and took a deep breath. She stepped through them. The loss of omniscience immediately hit her, making her feel intensely vulnerable. It was a feeling she could never get used to. With a small gasp, she stepped backwards, back onto Hogwarts grounds. What if she missed out on something important whilst she was away?

She frowned, angry at herself. Where was her supposed Gryffindor courage? (She had often thought to herself that her courage was more of the Slytherin sort: being brave only when the odds were on her side, but the Sorting Hat couldn't have been wrong, could it?) Hermione pulled herself together and stepped back through the gates decisively.

Now that she was determined, the sensation wasn't as dreadful. Besides the sudden vulnerability, Hermione took the time to realize she also felt a lot lighter. Interesting how weighty knowledge could be.

Hermione began to stride towards Hogsmede, unable to suppress her excitement. The ground was no longer green and well-kept, as on Hogwarts grounds, but rather muddy from recent rain.

She looked down and noticed a trail of footprints leading directly to Hogsmede. They seemed fresh, made by a man if one could judge by size. Who else could it be, other than Snape?

Hermione grinned wryly. Perhaps the man wasn't as talented as he liked to pretend he was, if he couldn't even keep a simply Cushioning charm on his feet for lengthy periods of time!

It was just as she was thinking this very thought that Hermione felt the ground slip from beneath her. With an undignified squeak, she ended up flat on the ground, her whole back covered with mud. The Cushioning charm on her feet hadn't given her any grip on the slippery ground.

Hermione rose to her feet grumpily, pointing her wand at her feet and muttering, "_Finite_." She took off her cloak as well, and scourgified it, grumbling to herself as she recast her Disillusionment charms. Stupid Snape and his stupid foresight.

Then, rather less excitedly than before, Hermione headed towards Hogsmede. She reached the high street within several minutes. The street was mostly empty, expect for a few patrons hanging around the Three Broomsticks. Honeydukes was closed, as was Zonko's. Well, it was the middle of the week, after all. Business had to be slow without myriads of students traipsing around.

She walked past the Three Broomsticks, towards the nearest crossroads. Hermione pulled out her wand once more and whispered, "_Point me Snape_." Her wand twitched in her hand. She frowned and repeated the spell. This time her wand spun half a circle, before stopping. Hermione scowled. "_Point me Snape_!!" The resulting frantic spinning of her wand nearly poked her own eye out.

It was useless. She had lost him.

Hermione tried to think rationally about the situation in order to quell her rising temper. It was unlikely Snape would've walked all the way to Hogsmede simply to Disapparate. Either he had gone out of the range of the spell, or he had entered a warded property. The Hog's Head was a likely candidate, as its dodgy clientele probably didn't want to be found. But she couldn't sneak in there. It was a known haunt for Death Eaters and other violent types, for those trafficking potions and poisons, and, occasionally, slavers. As much as she hated to admit it, her sneaking skills were not yet up to par for her to feel comfortable in such an environment. She wasn't Harry, after all. She knew her own limitations.

Hermione cursed to herself angrily. She had lost Snape's trail once again, and now she was in Hogsmede, breaking school rules, for no reason at all. She began to stalk back to the castle, intent on inflicting pain on the first victim she came upon. Perhaps it was time to teach Draco that little lesson.

A wicked smile spread across Hermione's face. She realized what she was doing and frowned immediately, glancing around to ensure that no one had seen her. She wouldn't want to ruin her innocent-as-a-lamb-goody-two-shoes-persona just yet, at least, not until the Head Girl badge was safely pinned to her robes. She almost smacked herself in the forehead when she remembered her double-layered Disillusionment Charms. She had only been a short time outside of Hogwarts grounds, and already she was acting like an idiot. The thought made her scowl.

Hermione glanced around to get her bearings, realizing she was quite close to Sleek n' Shine, where she had bought her lip balm. It was a small shop, but very clean and reasonably priced, with a modest range of natural hair and skin products. Recently, the proprietor had begun expanding into cosmetics, the strawberry lip balm in her pocket being one of the latest products.

She paused, tempted to go by and pick up a new lip balm, as hers was nearly all gone and she didn't know when she would next be in Hogsmede. It was Sunday, and it was quite likely the shop would be closed, but she couldn't resist the urge to at least have a look.


	3. Into the Lair

**Chapter 3**  
~`~`~`~`

A simple _alohomora_ got her through the front door of Sleek n' Shine. Hermione walked in eagerly, making sure to close the door behind her and relock it. She strode over to the corner, bypassing the soaps and shampoos, to where the cosmetics range was stored.

She perused the shelves quickly, and was left disappointed. Her lip balm was out of stock. Hermione scowled, feeling petulant. Her whole trip to Hogsmede had been an utter waste of time!

She turned to leave, walking slowly to the main door. But she paused as she raised her wand to unlock the door. She had enough money with her to pay for the lip balm, and it seemed such a shame to go back to Hogwarts empty-handed. Plus, she was already in the shop; another peek around wouldn't make much of a difference.

Hermione nodded to herself and turned back to face the shop, scanning the area behind the shop counter for a door or entrance into the storage area. A thin crack in the wall caught her eye, and she strode over to it curiously. She traced the crack with her finger. It was too straight to be anything but wizard-made.

When her finger reached the bottom of the crack, the wall in front of her rippled slightly, revealing a door which was slightly ajar. Hermione smiled. She was lucky the proprietor hadn't closed the door properly, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to see the narrow crack.

She carefully pushed the door open. A long set of stairs led down into the shop basement. The stairway was rather dark. Hermione started forward gingerly, pulling the door closed behind her. She kept her hand on the wall and felt her way down the stairs, not wanting to risk a _lumos_.

Finally, after several long, tense moments, she reached the bottom of the staircase. A warm flickering lit the bottom of the stairs, coming from the room to her right. She kept to the wall and peeked in.

Bingo! A potions lab! Vials and jars spanned across the entire back wall of the room; it was here she would hopefully find some lip balm. Hermione resisted the urge to jump up and down like a schoolgirl. She was a schoolgirl, but not the jumping kind of one. Jumping was for people like Ginny, or transfigured versions of Draco.

Hermione edged into the room cautiously, making sure that no one was in sight. When she realized that the room was empty, she sighed in relief and began to look around. A large desk dominated the middle of the room, surrounded by bubbling cauldrons. Hermione walked towards them, curious to see how magical cosmetics were brewed.

There were several cauldrons full of what smelt like Lavender's shampoo. She dipped her wand cautiously in the mixture, noticing its slick, oily texture. She instantly pitied whoever had to brew these shampoos; working constantly over such a mixture was bound to make even dry hair like hers as oily as Snape's.

Hermione moved past the cauldrons over to a large desk covered with scattered pieces of parchment. Perhaps she could find the recipe for the lip balm and make it herself, after the shop discontinued the line, of course. She wouldn't tell anyone, nor sell the recipe to others, so it would be difficult to accuse her of copyright infringement.

The spiky, scrawling handwriting was vaguely familiar. Feeling a sudden warmth wash over her, Hermione shrugged her travelling cloak off and slung it over her arm. She picked up a piece of parchment and scrutinized the odd symbols; everything was written in code. It seemed runic-based, and Hermione scanned the symbols, searching for a pattern to help with the translation.

So focused was she on puzzling out the inexplicable situation, that the soft voice right by her ear caught her entirely by surprise. "You meddling girl. You're almost as bad as Dumbledore."

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin. She whirled around and came face-to-face with Snape. Well, face-to-shoulder; the man was too tall for his own good.

"You?" she whispered in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" And how had she not noticed her Disillusionment spell fail?

"This is _my_ property. The real question is why _you_ are here, against school rules. It seems Potter isn't the only Gryffindor who thinks himself above the law."

"_Your_ property?" she repeated, incredulous. But as soon as the words left her mouth it all clicked together. Sleek 'n Shine. S.S. Even the name of the shop screamed Severus Snape. And who else but a Potions master would have the knowledge of how to adequately mix ingredients? It was well-known that the making of high quality magical cosmetics was difficult at best. She glanced at the cauldrons of shampoo behind her. Snape's oily hair suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Well?" Snape hissed impatiently. "You have one minute to explain yourself before I haul you back to school in disgrace."

"I came to ask you a question that I need to know the answer to," she said honestly, backing away from the potions on the table.

"Once again trying to know it all," Snape sneered. He crossed his arms, his voice suddenly becoming quiet and dangerously silky. "I have no doubt you will ask the question regardless of whether I feel inclined to answer, so do hurry up."

She took a deep breath, excited that she was so close to the answer. The forbidding expression on Snape's face hardly deterred her as she blurted, "What are you doing with the strawberries?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. "I specifically ordered the House Elves not to tell anyone."

"Ah," she replied, feeling smug. "It seems Dumbledore and I share more traits than you realize." She paused for effect, then continued. "I'm omniscient."

"You're what?" Snape spluttered, his eyes widening. He seemed at loss for words, and he turned away from her to pace back and forth. Hermione watched him pace, mentally taking notes on Snape's reaction. She tried to smother a grin. Maybe leaving Hogwarts wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be.

"And all this time I thought it was Dumbledore chasing me around the castle," Snape muttered, his eyes little angry slits. "But it was just you."

Hermione suppressed a smile. Snape, cosmetician extraordinaire. Maybe she could make some bogus flyers and surreptitiously hand them around, inviting girls to ask Snape for makeover advice.

Snape seemed to read her mind. He stepped closer towards her, looming over her threateningly. "You tell anyone about this and I promise you will never receive more than an Acceptable at Potions." His scowl deepened. "The rumours about me and McGonagall have also got to stop."

Hermione winced, backing away slowly. Snape matched each of her steps, his cloak flaring behind him, until she was pressed against a wall with nowhere to go. He stood before her, arms crossed, obviously not finished intimidating her. She added 'loom threateningly' to her mental list of how to intimidate an adversary, trying to remain rational in the face of such scary cloakiness.

"If I hear even a whisper of a rumour about what you saw here, I'll ensure that—." Snape paused, looking suddenly pained. His eyes dropped from hers to look at her lips. "What is on your lips?" he whispered, his voice strangled.

"S…strawberry lip balm," she replied nervously. She had expected his anger, his threats, but not this almost hungry look, and it was only now she started to feel truly at risk. An unpredictable Snape was a dangerous thing.

His face approached hers, and she moved her head back, whacking it against the wall. With a start, Snape turned away from her, going to stand near the cauldrons with his back to her. When he spoke, his voice was flat and unemotional. "Get out of my sight. Now."

Hermione was halfway up the stairs before she even realized she had moved. Scowling at her doglike obedience, she slowed as she finished climbing the stairs, contemplating the sour Potion professor and his unexpected behaviour. What would it take for him to explain why he was behaving oddly?

She touched her lips: there was hardly any lip balm left on at all. Then, a thought struck her, a thought so daring and fool-hardy she knew it was the Gryffindor in her calling the shots. Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out her lip balm. There was only a quarter of a tube left, and she had been trying to use it sparingly, but a quest for knowledge called for drastic measures. She took off the lid and dipped her finger into the pot, spreading the sticky sweet substance liberally over her lips with great satisfaction. Then she turned around and walked back down into the basement.

Snape was making some kind of potion, stirring feverishly, his eyes intent on the dark red liquid. He didn't notice her at first. She paused by the doorway, hesitant, watching him. Then, with a suddenness that surprised her, he simply froze.

All he managed to say was: "Out. Now." But she could not be deterred. His strange behaviour emboldened her.

She could see his shoulders tense as she approached. His hands were twitching, as if he was trying to resist the urge to lash out at her. Cautiously, she walked closer, until she was right beside him. He stared fixedly ahead as if he could not see her.

"Professor?" she whispered, not sure of what else to say.

He did not respond.

She reached up to touch his shoulder.

With a sudden movement, he snatched her hand out of midair, bringing it towards his face. He inhaled deeply, it seemed with satisfaction. Hermione was too confused to speak, and instead studied Snape's face intently. She was surprised to see a variety of expressions on it, ranging from hunger to something rather more intense, and resolved to review her list enumerating Snape facial expressions.

What Snape did next completely stopped Hermione's careful musing. He took hold of her index finger, put it in his mouth, and sucked. Hermione was stunned: she didn't know whether to moan or feel embarrassed. She could already feel her cheeks flushing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted quite clinically the expertise with which Snape was curling his tongue around her finger. The thought made her blush even more.

Snape seemed momentarily satisfied and stopped his ministrations, keeping, however, a firm grip on her wrist.

"Sir," Hermione said hesitantly, "I'm not sure this is quite appropriate."

Snape gave her a dark look. "Indeed. But, to resort to childish taunts, you started it. I'm sure if this incident were to reach the Headmaster's ears, he would be extremely lenient with me after a description of your behaviour. After all, you're of age, and off of Hogwarts grounds."

"Of age?" she repeated, confused.

Snape scowled. "I just said that, you dunderhead."

"You're the dunderhead! I'm not of age," Hermione retorted, trying unsuccessfully to pull her wrist out of his grasp. "I only turned seventeen last September."

"You and your Muggle birthday-counting system," Snape sneered in reply. "Seventeen is of age in the wizarding world. Furthermore, a side-effect of using a timeturner is the subsequent aging parallel to the amount of use. Therefore you are already eighteen in Ministry records, not seventeen, and as such of age by Muggle reckoning as well. Surely this was specified in the legal documents you signed."

"My name isn't Shirley," Hermione replied snootily. Hermione had to stifle a laugh at the gobsmacked expression on Snape's face. But what else had he expected? Him and his big words and complicated sentences. If he thought to intimidate her, he was wrong. Such a long-winded reply had deserved the most inane answer possible.

The disdain in Snape's eyes was clearly visible. "Trust a Gryffindor to display a startling lack of understanding with regards to consequences."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but something made her pause. She studied Snape and realized with growing horror that his face had taken on the same hungry look he had had earlier.

Merlin! She had liberal doses of the lip balm on her lips! And if her finger's experience was anything to go by.... Desperation gave Hermione hidden strength. She managed to tear her wrist out of Snape's grasp. She threw herself forward, ducking and rolling under the table to the other side, mentally thanking Harry for the tedious hours of duelling practice.

Hermione jumped to her feet and faced Snape, trying to quell her rising panic. He hadn't moved, clearly surprised by her swift escape.

"Remove the lip balm from your lips, or I will be forced to do it for you," Snape said quite suddenly, looking more and more restless as time passed.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at her lips. "_Evanesco_," she whispered, heaving a sigh of relief.

But Snape was still looking at her intently. She tentatively rubbed her lips together. The lip balm hadn't budged an inch.

"_Scourgify_," she said, slightly louder this time. Nothing happened. Hermione was beginning to feel incredibly anxious. Perhaps siphoning off the lip balm would work? "_Tergeo_!" Snape's intense stare remained focused on her lips.

Slowly, with dawning horror, Hermione remembered the ad campaign for the lip balm. It wasn't called Everlasting Strawberry Shine for nothing, after all. And, she remembered, once on a girl's lips it was only removable with a lover's kiss.

Snape suddenly lunged around the table, taking her completely by surprise. Hermione couldn't stop her shocked scream, but she retained enough of her wits to duck his outstretched arms and flee sideways, putting the bubbling cauldrons between them.

She wiped her lips furiously with the back of her hand, but to no avail. Snape continued to approach, gliding slowly in stark contrast to his previous lunge. Hermione wondered how they looked from the outside, the tall, menacing Potions professor chasing a student around a room. The image was faintly ridiculous, but the concentrated look on Snape's face quelled any impulse she had to laugh.

_Think, Hermione, think!_ There had to be some kind of binding agent in the lip balm, making it impossible to clean off. But whatever was in a lover's kiss dissolved that binding. Hermione edged away from the approaching Snape, biting her lip as she frantically tried to find a solution. The faint taste of strawberries in her mouth brought her to her senses. Saliva was the answer, the ingredient which dissolved the binding agent. All she had to do was lick her lips enough times and the lip balm would be gone!

She looked at Snape triumphantly, suddenly noticing that he had backed her back to her original position, the table between them once more. They stared at each other from across the table. Hermione looked away from his gaze, feeling a little flustered. She defiantly opened her mouth to tell Snape that she'd found a solution, but the look on his face made her stop.

Snape was smirking.

Hermione had the sinking feeling that all along he'd simply been toying with her. A moment later, her feeling was proved right. It felt like she barely had the time to blink before Snape was by her side, grasping her wrist and pulled her towards him. He had her trapped against the table, completely at his mercy. She looked up at him anxiously, trying to calculate her next move.

All coherent thoughts flew out the window when Snape moved his hand from her wrist to her waist. Hermione squeaked indignantly as he shoved her roughly down onto the table before him, an odd gleam in his eyes. He bent down over her, the weight of his chest pressing her even more firmly into the table.

Frantically, Hermione sucked on her upper lip, removing all traces of the lip balm. Now all that was left was her bottom lip. But then she made the mistake of looking back up into Snape's eyes. His eyes had grown even darker, and pinned her to the spot as if she was petrified.

Snape smirked and swooped down, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue slowly covering every inch. He didn't close his eyes and kept staring down at her as he nibbled ever-so gently.

Hermione realized she wasn't breathing. Then, she realized she'd closed her eyes.

Of course, she was only closing her eyes to avoid having a close-up view of Snape, not because she was actually enjoying it. And definitely not because his lips were softer than expected, and pressing firmly against hers.

When Snape finally pulled away, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him, dazed. Had that just happened? Her mouth felt dry and she compulsively swallowed.

He looked down at her flushed face, and then smirked. "I _did_ warn you."

Hermione just blinked a couple times, her lips tingling. She reached up slowly to touch her lips. They felt slightly dry, and her hand was half-way down to her pocket to reapply the lip balm when she realized the consequences of what she was about to do. She put her hand by her side reluctantly, pushing herself up so that she was seated on the table.

"The lip balm was a new product, part of a range of cosmetics I was creating as an attempt to increase the popularity of my shop, and hence increase my income," Snape explained to her, suddenly amiable and relaxed. "I only realized after several months of producing the lip balm that it has one fatal side-effect: it is addictive. Constant exposure to the lip balm over long periods of time leads to an increased dependency, both mental and physical, to the extent that not using the lip balm could lead to fever-like symptoms, mood swings, loss of common sense, and so on."

Snape was in full lecture mode now, and Hermione could only stare at him, fascinated, wishing she had pen and paper to jot down notes. Her mind was still a little muddled and hazy, and she was worried about forgetting a crucial detail of Snape's explanation.

Snape started pacing, looking a little less relaxed than before. "Of course, the addiction side-effect has done wonders to my balance sheet, meaning that I have had to make even more lip balm, and thus unknowingly expose myself to it. Had I known of its addictive properties, I would have taken precautions to ensure I would not have fallen prey to its temptations. Yet here I am, and still will be, until I develop a cure."

Hermione nodded, sorting through everything Snape had said. She struggled to slide slowly back into a more objective mindset, using simple mental notation to ease the process.

_1. Exposure * time = strength of addiction. _

_2. Lip balm = addictive (no cure!). _

_3. Exposure * time = strength of addiction of lip balm._

_4. Snape = lots of exposure * lots of time. _

_5. Snape = strongly addicted to lip balm = weakness (no cure!). _

When her rational mind properly kicked in again, she realized with sudden glee that she had more than enough to blackmail Snape into grading her essays fairly. He had played into her hands, almost as easily as Draco had. Although he was perhaps a tad scarier than Draco.

She looked at Snape, feeling confident once more, but his superior smirk gave her reason to pause.

"You are just as addicted to that lip balm as I am," he said smoothly, his voice deceptively soothing. "And should you feel unable to keep today's events to yourself, I may find myself suddenly unable to make any more lip balm."

Damn. She had forgotten a step. Frowning, she added to the list:

_6. Self = lots of exposure * lots of time = strongly addicted = weakness (no cure!)._

Suddenly things didn't seem as cheery as they had before. To make matters worse, Snape was researching the cure off of Hogwarts grounds, so she wouldn't be able to discover the cure when he did, either.

He seemed to read her thoughts, for he suddenly smirked. "I'm sure when the time comes we can make an arrangement for the cure as well."

Hermione nodded, speechless, and watched as Snape strode from the room with an exaggerated flair. She turned to follow him slowly, scowling as she left. She had discovered something extremely personal about Snape, and he had managed to turn it around so that she could not blackmail him in any way. And she even had the uncontrollable desire to quash all the silly rumours about his affair with McGonagall; after kissing him herself she could no longer picture the two together without feeling incredibly repulsed. He had outmanoeuvred her: he truly was a Slytherin.

But then, with a happy sigh, she remembered the pot of lip balm in her pocket. At least she had discovered a way to encourage Snape into giving her a couple Outstandings.

Hermione was subdued on her trek back to Hogwarts, evaluating the relative success of H.E.M.P. She supposed most of her endeavours were at least more successful than S.P.E.W., and her execution of the plan had been nearly perfect. She could not blame herself for Snape's deviousness anymore than she could blame Draco for his vanity.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, startled, to find Bill Weasley standing in front of her, just inside the Hogwart's gates, genuine confusion on his face. Damn! She'd been so lost in her thoughts she had completely forgotten to Disillusion herself.

"Err... Bill. Hi." Not her most coherent greeting, either. She really needed a good nap and some hot chocolate. And her omniscience, Draco's odd roleplays and all.

"Breaking school rules, I see. Not so innocent after all, are you?" Bill smirked.

Hermione cast her mind about, trying to think of a valid excuse, a lie—anything!—to make sure her Head Girl badge wasn't at risk.

She needn't have worried. Bill held the gate open for her and allowed her through, on to Hogwarts grounds. The sudden weight of omniscience was uncomfortable, but extremely welcome.

Hermione turned around to face Bill, focusing her mind on him to determine his intentions. But he had already stepped off of Hogwarts grounds, and was smiling at her rather cheekily from the other side of the gate.

"See you around, rule-breaker." Bill winked, turned on the spot, and Disapparated.

With a small smile, Hermione turned around and walked towards the castle. It was about time she figured out where Bill fit in the grand scheme of things.


End file.
